Page 35 of Tracking Shadows

The house is too quiet. No voices, no footsteps, nothing. It’s the kind of quiet that feels suffocating, like the world has just stopped and left me behind.

I try to lift my head, but the room spins, and I have to drop it back down. My cheek hits the floor again.

My parents are lying there, so still. The sunlight that pours through the window casts long shadows over their bodies, making them seem so much smaller than they were, even more . . . gone.

Footsteps echo in the house, and each one makes the floor vibrate beneath me. I want to scream, to run, but nothing happens. I’m frozen, trapped in my own body.

The door creaks open, and a figure steps inside. He moves toward me; his face is blurry. He kneels beside me and grabs me, lifting me up like I’m nothing more than a ragdoll.

“Please, let me go!”

He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps walking, carrying me through the door. I twist in his arms, trying to fight him off,but I’m too weak. All I can do is watch as my house, my parents, and everything I’ve ever known fade away behind me.

The cold is the first thing I notice when I wake up. It's all I've been noticing lately because it keeps settling deep in my bones, and it makes every breath I take feel heavy. I don’t know where I am, but the smell of mold and dust tells me it’s far from home. Home . . .. My stomach twists at the thought that I don't have a home anymore.

The room is a small, dark space with peeling walls and a flickering lightbulb that barely holds on. It’s so quiet.

I try to sit up, but the moment I move, my head spins, and my stomach lurches.

I start screaming.

The door opens, and a man limps into the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar cutting across his face.

Is he going to kill me?

I scramble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Stop screaming. I'm not going to hurt you.”

I don’t believe him. Why should I? I don’t know him. I don’t know where I am. My parents are dead. Everything is gone, and this man thinks he can just tell me to stop?

“Who are you?” I spit out. “If you're here to kill me, do it.”

He takes a step closer, but I press harder against the wall. I don’t care if it’s cold. I don’t care if it hurts. I just don't want to be here.

“Irina, I'm not going to hurt you.”

“How do you know my name? Stop coming toward me.”

“I was your father’s partner.” He stops just a few feet away. “We served together in the military for 20 years.”

I shake my head. “No. No, you weren’t.” The words feel thick in my throat. I can barely think straight, and the pounding in my head isn’t helping. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he says. “He was one of the only people I could trust. He was my best friend.”

I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know. “Why should I believe you? How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”

He reaches into his pocket, and I tense, ready to scream again and fight if I must. But all he pulls out is a photograph. He steps closer and holds it out for me to see. I don’t want to look, but my eyes betray me.

It’s my dad.

In the photo, he looks younger, healthier, and he is standing next to this man. They are both in military uniforms, and they're smiling.

Tears gather in my eyes.

I'll never see my dad smile again.

“We were trainees together. Your dad was always taking care of everyone. He looked out for me, and I looked up to him as an older brother.

---